The waitress drops off another round of beers, and Fletch winks as she sashays to another section. We’re sitting at a high-top table, nestled in the corner of Jameson’s, the best pub and grill in town. One of the things I love about this place is that even if you’re famous, no one bothers you. You see them in the supermarket, and they say hello, but then go about their business. Sure, we’ve gotten a few glances here and there, but no one has come up to ask for an autograph, and I have to admit I like it. After almost a week of being cooped up in the rental, the guys wanted to get out, and I don’t blame them. Alex had a Ford F250 delivered yesterday, so that the guys could get around town, and I bought myself a Ford F250 Super Duty like Reese’s, but instead of cherry red, I went for ‘Blue Jeans’ blue. It’s been four days since Reese’s friend, Mya, arrived, and when the tension got to be too much, I escaped to the band’s rental house down the road. Unless I’m watching Eli, I’m with the guys. Granted, I’ve been acting like a dick towards Reese, but I’m still smarting over what she did at the bonfire. I don’t want to believe she did it just to get under my skin, but damn if it didn’t scratch at old wounds. It brought our past back, and while I knew we’d have to address it eventually, it’s just too soon after losing Ryan and Mel. As far as our routine with Eli goes, we’re solid, but that’s about it. We tolerate each other, nothing more. I hate it, but no way am I apologizing first.
“So,” Benji takes a sip of his Corona, “when do we start on our next album?”
During my many visits to the house, we’ve been messing around with lyrics, and sounds, unhurried because the record label has yet to ask about our next album. But the guys are itching to get back into it. So am I.
“Not sure,” I reply honestly. “I can’t exactly leave.” Not that I’m in a hurry to. Having Eli has changed things, and so has Reese. I missed so much of my brother’s life, I don’t want to miss any more. I’ve been all over the world, sang in some incredible cities, but nothing could have prepared me for how good it would feel to really be home. Where I grew up. Where I learned to play music. Fletch leans forward. “Not sure I want to leave yet. I like it here.”
“More than New York and L.A?” Carson asks.
Fletch purses his lips. “It’s different here, slower. I wouldn’t mind writing a few tracks while we’re here, and then maybe laying them down in L.A.”
“Or,” I scratch the scruff on my chin. “We can record it here.”
Benji frowns. “How? There’s no recording studio here.”
“There could be.” I look at the guys. “There’s an old dilapidated barn on the ranch. What if we had it converted into a recording studio? We can write some new stuff, record it here.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Carson says, and Benji and Fletch nod their agreement.
“I want to change our sound,” I add, fidgeting with the label on my beer bottle. We do rock, and we have a few tracks that have a mix of country, but lately there’s been a need for something new. “Something that speaks to being home, putting down roots.” For a split second the thought of settling down with Reese enters my head, but I’m quick to shut it down. Not happening. I get that she’s now a permanent fixture in my life, and I have no choice but to accept it, but it won’t ever be more than that.
“We do have a lot of memories here,” Fletch says, grinning. “I mean, we’ve done three albums of what feels like the same stuff, you know? I’m down for trying something else.”
“Count me in.” Benji leans back. “Friday Night Lights, man.”
I snort. “God, we caused so much shit at those field parties. We could probably write an entire album about that alone.”
“And getting laid on the flatbeds of our beat-up pickups,” Carson chuckles. “Man, those were the fuckin’ days.”
“And streaking across the quad after Fletch lost a bet to me,” I laugh. We reminisce about the good ol’ days, laughing at our antics, but in the back of my mind, I think back to everything that happened with Reese. It’s involuntary, thinking about how I screwed up, and before I can will myself not to do it, I think back to the night of our senior prom.
Jessica fluffs her hair, and turns to her friend, Sarah, for yet another make-up check. When she’s satisfied, she turns to me, and straightens my tie. “What is with you tonight, Thorin?” She snaps, noticing my sour mood. “If I knew you were going to be so damn pissy, I would have come with someone else.” With a huff, she drags me over to the arch trellis covered in roses where the photographer snaps pictures. She grabs my arms and wraps them around her waist. “Smile, and look like you damn well mean it,” she gripes through gritted teeth. “Do not ruin this night for me.” Her mouth splits, showing off her straight white teeth, and she pushes her chest out. As if her blue two-piece dress doesn’t already show off enough of her damn tits. I smile, play the dutiful boyfriend, and after three different poses, Jessica pulls me to the side. She looks pissed, but what’s new?
“I’m going to get some punch, and when I come back, you can at least pretend you want to be here with me.” When she gives me her back, her blue skirt flowing behind her, I exhale in relief. Yeah, I’m going to have to pretend because this is the last place I want to be. I mean, its senior prom, I’m nominated for prom king, and yet, I’m counting down the minutes so I can leave. I shouldn’t be here with Jessica, but I was too much of a pussy to tell her I didn’t want to come with her anymore. She’d bitch about it, and tell me that the prom king and queen always come together, as if we’ve already won. But whatever. I wasn’t in the mood for another fight because that’s all we do. For the last few months it’s been fighting and sex, but now it’s just fighting, and to be honest, this is not how I imagined my senior prom. Most guys don’t give a shit about this night, they just see it as another excuse to get laid, but I knew exactly what I wanted my senior prom to look like, who I wanted to come with. Too bad I fucked shit up real bad. My mind drifts to Reese, and I wonder what she’s doing tonight, if someone asked her. She’d love how romantic everything looks, right down to the fairy lights hanging from the ceiling. It’s everything I know she would have expected—the color scheme, the decor, the cheesy rose arch for photographs. My eyes scan the crowd for her, but my search comes to an abrupt halt when Jessica appears at my side. She hands me a solo cup, and it’s been spiked so hard I can smell the whiskey. Whatever. I chug it in one go, and lead Jessica onto the dance floor. She flaunts herself, like a damn peacock. The song is slow, so we’re tightly pressed together and holding her in my arms just feels so wrong. Our friends join us, and soon the dance floor is filled with couples. I stare over Jessica’s head, praying for the song to end, but there’s a commotion at the door before the entire gymnasium falls quiet. “You can’t come in without a ticket,” someone says close to the doors.
“Fuck you, Beth-Anne.” I know that voice. I swivel so fast, Jessica trips on her five-inch heels. “What the fuck, Thorin?” She screeches. I’ve already tuned her out. The crowd parts, and Reese stands still. She’s already crying. Why is she—shit. I take a second to take in how beautiful she looks, wearing a powder pink dress with a layered tulle skirt that flows around her ballet pumps. It’s what she’s always wanted to wear for this night, and it’s a gut check when I realize I remember exactly what she wanted to wear. Her blond hair flows in ringlets around her shoulders, clipped back on one side by a diamond-crusted clip I know belongs to my mom. My mom did this for her, I just know it. That makes me feel worse.
“I can’t believe it,” Jessica snickers beside me, loud enough for everyone else to hear. “You actually showed.” I frown, but keep my gaze on Reese. She starts walking towards me, a piece of paper clutched in her hands, her make-up already ruined. She stops in front of me, and shoves the paper at my chest. “I waited for you,” she whispers, her voice hoarse.
I open the note, confused as fuck. The scribble reads, Go to prom with me? - Thorin. What the hell? It’s not even my handwriting. Jessica starts cackling next to me, and almost doubles over. Some people join her, others watch me.
“You actually believed he asked you to prom,” Jessica laughs, wiping under eyes. “You’ve reached a new low, Peppa Pig. As if Thorin of all people would ever bring you to our senior prom.”
“You did this?” I ask Jessica, barely hanging on to my fury. I knew coming with her was a mistake, that breaking the promise I made four years ago was a mistake.
Before Jessica can reply, Reese shoves me. “You asshole!” She screams. “I waited for you! For over two hours! Was it a joke to you, too? Did you do it on purpose?”
I reach for her, but she slaps my hand away. “Reese, I didn’t—”
Jessica cuts me off. “No, he didn’t.” Her smile turns facetious. “But I did. For old times sake.”
With lightening speed, Reese slaps me across the face, hard enough that I know it’ll leave a mark. “I hate you, Thorin Decker.” She turns to Jessica. “This is the last time, Jessica. We’ll see who gets the last laugh.” She spins on her heel, and runs for the exit. Jessica grabs my arm, and sneers. “Go after her, and we’re over, Thorin.”
I snatch my arm from her grip. “We’ve been over, Jessica. And I’ve finally realized the girl I love isn’t you.” She gasps, but I’m already running after Reese. I catch her in the parking lot, hurriedly climbing into her dad’s car. “Reese! Wait!”
“No, Thorin. I’m done waiting. When I got that note I thought you remembered, ‘under the same sky’, right? But the joke is on me, yet again. But don’t worry, after tonight I’ll be out of your life for good.” She slams the door shut, and peels out of the lot. Damnit. I need a damn car. We came in a limo, and it’s not scheduled to pick us up until midnight. I run back inside, and find Benji. “Dude, I need your truck. Now.” He looks pissed, but rather than tell me what a dumbass I am, he hands me the keys. I’m out of there in a heartbeat, and drive like hell all over town, wondering where Reese would go. If her parents are home, that’s the last place she’ll be. I skid to a stop in our driveway, the sound drawing my parents outside.
“Thorin, what’s wrong, Son? What are you doing home?” My dad asks, his brows furrowed.
“Is Reese here?”
“No, honey,” Mom steps outside, “she got ready here, and then said you’d fetch her at her house. Is something wrong?” She got ready at my place? That makes zero sense.
“Fuck!” I yell. I pull out my phone and call her. Goes straight to voicemail. “Do you know if her parents are home?”
“No idea, but how about you tell us what’s going on and we can help?” Dad offers.
“I screwed up,” I tell them. “But I have to go.”
I’m back in the truck, and fishtailing it down the driveway. Going to Reese’s house is a risk if her parents are home, they hate me, but it’s worth a shot. I check the time, and realize I’ve been driving around like a lunatic for almost an hour. My body sags in relief when I see Reese’s dad’s car stopped at the curb outside their house. Lights are off, so I pray it’s just Reese. The door’s unlocked—odd—but when I hear the sound of rushing water, I race upstairs. I snuck inside many times as a kid so I know Reese has an en-suite bathroom. I rush through her room, and shove her bathroom door open, almost slipping on the tiles. I look down at how much water there is, and then flick my gaze to the giant clawfoot tub. The water overflows, tinged with red. Reese’s limp, underwear-clad body lies adrift, her arms hanging over the edges.
My heart stops.
“No, no, no, no…” I kneel down, and, fuck, I don’t know where to touch her. There’s so much fucking blood. Reese’s wrists are slit, vertical cuts. Blood runs down her arms, and one look at her pale skin tells me she’s already unconscious.
“Reese!” I scream. “No! Please.” I cup her face. “Open your eyes, Reese!”
Nothing.
“Fuck!” Tears run down my cheeks unchecked, and I can feel my heart splitting open. This isn’t happening. “Please, God, no!”
I fumble for my phone and call 911, and then I call Benji. The EMT’s are pushing me away ten minutes later, and when they find a pulse—a weak one—they carry Reese out on a gurney. Benji and I follow in his truck, my hands shaking, covered in dry blood. My suit is ruined, but I don’t care. As long as she lives. My pulse skitters when she’s rushed into the ER, and I almost take out a male nurse when he tells me I have to wait in the waiting area before I can see her. “She has to be okay,” I tell Benji. He takes a seat next to me and we wait. And wait. And wait. I expect Reese’s parents to show, but they don’t. Mine do, and when they take one look at me, Mom’s in tears and Dad’s telling me everything will be okay. I want to believe him, and when they finally allow me to see her, I think he might be right. Except when she wakes up, hours later, and sees me, her words send my world crumbling to pieces.
“You should have let me die,” she whispers. “Now leave, and don’t ever come back.”
Carson snaps his fingers in front of my face, reminding me of where I am. “Yo, Thor, did you go to Asgard again?” He chuckles, and I slap his hand away. “Sorry, zoned out.” Benji watches me, and I swear he knows exactly where my head was at seconds ago. He knows I haven’t exactly been myself since the bonfire, and why Reese’s song choice would wreck me, even days later. It triggered something in me, and I haven’t been able to wrangle my own feelings into submission. I straighten, plastering a grin on my face. “What were we talking about?”
“The old barn on the ranch,” Fletch replies. “You really want to turn it into a recording studio and have this be our home base?”
I shrug. Easy answer. “Doesn’t have to be your home base.” I sip my now warm beer. “But I’m ready for it to be mine.”
Hours later, I’m stopping outside Ryan’s house—well, I guess it’s now mine—and notice the stable is open, lights on. I frown. Ever since the staff left, I’ve been cleaning it up, and looking after the horses. Maybe Reese is doing the same, but at this hour? And on her own? I climb out of my truck, and walk towards the open doors, taking in the scent of my childhood. I hear sniffling in the farthest stall, where we keep our mare, Bonnie. She was Reese’s favorite when we were kids, and Dad used her to teach Reese how to ride. I round the corner, my steps faltering when I see Reese curled up against Bonnie. Reese rubs her snout, and then wipes her face.
“Hey.”
She startles, but when she sees its me, she goes back to rubbing Bonnie.
“Are you okay?” I ask. My mind goes to Eli. “Where’s Eli?” It’s not my night with him, but it’s rare that I see Reese without him.
“Mya’s looking after him.” She sniffles again. “I just needed some time alone.”
I suck my top lip into my mouth, trying to decide what to do. I had fun with the guys, but something sizzles beneath the surface of my skin, I just can’t place exactly what it is.
“You wanna talk about it?”
Reese looks up, and if looks could kill…
“Not with you,” she says quietly, dropping her gaze. That stings, but I’m not exactly chomping at the bit to have a heart-to-heart with her either. God, she’s as confusing as she is infuriating, which is why it’s in my best interest to steer clear of anything that isn’t platonic.
“Fine,” I snap, agitated. I spin on my heel, and then something hits my head. The fuck? I turn, and notice a notebook on the floor. I pick it up without looking at it. “What was that for?”
Reese’s lips form a thin line, like she’s trying to hold something back.
“You got something to say, Reese? Fucking say it.” Jesus, why do I feel like I want to kiss her right now? Might be the look of righteous indignation in her blue eyes, anger that’s clearly directed at me. Without a word, she stands, dusts herself off, and walks out, locking the stall behind her. She’s visibly upset, but I sure as hell won’t kiss her ass and beg her to tell me why. She brushes past me, and I watch her go, utterly frustrated with our situation. That’s when I look down, and notice the book in my hands. I flip through the pages, and realize it’s the book we wrote our songs in, the one she carried around with her. I thought I lost it years ago, searched for it like a mad man for months. Never once did I think she’d kept it. I flip through the pages, reading some of the words we penned together, and then see that she added a few things. Her last song was Under The Same Sky, and just below that, in black ink, is Thorin Decker is an asshole. Looks fresh too, like she might have written it as recent as tonight. And to say it bothers me is an understatement. I growl, flick the lights of, and stomp my way back to the house. If I had any inclination of apologizing to her for how I’ve behaved over the last week-and-a-half, it just disintegrated into dust.